


Duty's Regret

by Seallyn



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:24:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5302046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seallyn/pseuds/Seallyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now king of Fereldan, Alistair Theirin must give up everything he had to fulfill his duties including the love of his life, Ealasaid Tabris.  Only, life without her feels like no life at all.  He must learn to reconcile his feelings before he can become the great king that so many believe him to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The blight was over and Alistair Theirin was now the king of Ferelden, a country in repair. The recent war left the land scarred and devastated and its people afraid and uneasy. Even though the Arch demon had been eradicated, what remained of its forces still wandered the wilds in disarray. Many peasants and chasind folk complained of the monsters' presence. Sending troops to aid these people was of great concern to Alistair, but there was another task of even greater importance to the nobles that had to be taken care of.  
Fulfilling his royal duty and hoping to obtain more support from the northern countries Alistair agreed to marry Isabella Bentivoglio, daughter to the Duke of Rialto in Antiva. Alistair's uncle Arl Eamon Guerrin had spoken very highly her. The daughter of the Duke was well versed in etiquette, music, language and the arts as every young noble woman should be, and she was well prized for her chastity and piety. An impressive reputation by any royal standard. Alistair, however, felt no connection to her. Having spent most of his life away from politics and having only received his title recently, as the result of the death of his half brother, Cailan, Alistair cared for a different set of personal qualities.  
He wondered if he would ever be able to love another woman as none would ever compare to the woman he left behind. That thought stole what little cheer he had. As a part of the wedding tradition, he wouldn't even be able to speak to his bride, wouldn't even be able to see her face in person, until the wedding ceremony itself. He found the idea ridiculous, but his complaints were ignored. It was tradition, he was told, and that was the end of it.

Her ghastly bright hair was pinned up in rivulets of white thread. The shape of her thin childish frame was indistinguishable underneath the thick layers of expensive, silken cloth that created her elaborate wedding dress.  
Small, clear crystals had been woven into the corset lining, the ribbing and golden thread etched the patterns of roses on the panels in between. The train of her outrageous skirt stretched for seven yards in length and two yards in width, the rose patterns echoed in its length.  
She wore thick gaudy pearls around her slender neck and low hanging pearl earrings adorned her ears. She wore many golden rings on her slim fingers their tawdry, thick bands adding to the garish visage.  
Alistair stood by the altar staring at the woman slowly gliding down the aisle, the woman who would be his queen, his wife, his lover. The only feature he was able to discern was her eyes piercing through the veil, cold and blue; the color of ice.  
The ceremony had been long and dull. The priest droned on reading canticle after canticle while Alistair stared at the floor, weary with boredom. He had taken quick glances at his new wife trying to find some gleam of personality in her, some spark of life, but he could never find anything more than a placid face and empty eyes. He felt no love for her or from her. He again questioned whether or not he would ever be able to feel anything for her.  
The large richly decorated room suffocated him and the priest's voice became a distant hum in his ears. He wanted to run away from this ridiculous place, to escape, to find the woman he did love, his beloved Ealasaid. The woman he betrayed when he had become king. His cheeks flushed in shame and his mind wandered to the memories of earlier days.  
Strangely, he found himself longing for the days of battle where he and his beloved had fought side by side against their enemy. He saw her in his mind's eye, radiant and violently beautiful. Her elven heritage had made her all the more exotic and ravishing to him. He could see the thick, maroon drake skin leather clinging at her voluptuous female form. He remembered the curvaceous shape of her hips as she swung her quick blades felling their foes.  
He knew those hips well. The warm tanned skin from the sun, and the soft light hair that covered it. Her long, lustrous, golden hair was always kept in a tight bun to keep it out of her jade colored, almond-shaped eyes. And her smell. He remembered her smell most of all. The sweet aroma of the oils from indigenous flowers she used to bathe in mixed with hot sweat and blood from travel and war.  
He felt his skin burn and looked up to see the priest glaring at him. He was supposed to say something, but he wasn't sure what. The priest asked him again, "wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after the Maker's ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?" Alistair stared at his solemn bride then back at the priest.  
"My King?" the priest queried his tone held a hint of agitation.  
"I do," Alistair replied softly then repeated with more resolve, "I do."

The feast and the dance afterwards had been a blur. The faces of the other nobles flashed by in a haze of white and tan. His family and hers mingled loudly. Some spoke of politics while others whispered secrets. Even here they all played the Game.  
It wasn't long before the time came to enter the bridal chamber to consummate the monstrosity the nobles called marriage. A deafening cacophony of voices filled the halls as he held her hand in his, the chill creeping into his skin and he shivered. They walked down the hall passing his guests who applauded the new couple.  
They entered the overly decorated bridal chamber, closing the door with an ominous thud. Isabella quickly let go of Alistair's hand and stood before the bed, still as a statue. He grabbed a pole to the four-poster bed and swung on it before falling onto the bed, its luscious satin fabric engulfing him. He let his legs swing back and forth over the bedside and he let out a pent up sigh.  
He looked up at her and saw her still standing in the same spot he left her.  
"Are you not going to sit?" he asked perplexed. She immediately walked over to the bed and sat on it, her hands folded across her lap, her eyes staring at the richly painted wall. Alistair watched her sitting tall like a marble sculpture. He sat up and glanced at her. He was unsure how to proceed.  
She looked so young and helpless. Her hands were small, dwarfed by the billowing sleeves of her dress. Alistair noticed the sharp lines of her face; the harsh line of her chin and her sharp pointed nose. Her neck looked dangerously thin surrounded by the large pearls that hung on it; he feared that it would snap under the pressure of their weight.  
"Well I suppose this is it, right," he started, "time for us to strip off our clothes and have our way with each other the way the Maker intended." He laughed nervously attempting to lighten the mood. Isabella held her gaze on the wall, her lips pursed. Alistair sighed. He reached a hand to her shoulder and she jumped. He quickly removed it.  
"Right," he started. "Maybe we could share a story about ourselves, a funny anecdote perhaps, to, uh, ease the tension a bit, lighten the mood." Alistair grinned politely, Isabella never turning her stare. "Hmm…okay, I'll go first. Uh, well, I don't know if you know this, but I was raised by dogs. Explains the smell." Nothing.  
"Saw through that one, did you? As a young boy I was raised by my uncle, Eamon. His wife didn't approve and I was sent to the chantry. I hated it there."  
Shock washed over Isabella's pale face as it finally turned towards him. "Why would you hate the chantry, the Maker's Holy House?" Her Antivan accent was thick, but understandable. "Only there can we be fully at peace in his presence!" She turned her gaze back to the wall.  
Alistair was taken aback by Isabella's sudden outburst. He knew she was pious, but some part of him had hoped it was a ruse. "Oh of course," he quickly added. "I just, uh, it was, you know, the fact that I wanted to stay with Arl Eamon, is all. He took care of me before his wife sent me to the chantry. The revered mother hated me. She always stared at me with such cruelty in her eyes. I was afraid that some day she would stare at me so long that I would explode." He chuckled lightly.  
"The revered mother would never hate anyone," she replied automatically. "The Maker would be disappointed to hear you speak such sacrilege against his chosen children." She spewed, her body shaking in fear and anger.  
She shifted suddenly, she became afraid.  
"Forgive me, your Highness. I do not wish to speak out of turn. I beg your forgiveness." Alistair was dumbfounded.  
"You don't need to apologize, I wish for you to always speak your mind." Alistair grabbed for her hand, but she took it away reflexively. Alistair sighed.  
"I shall do my best, Sire."  
"Uh, right." Alistair stared at her puzzled. "Enough about me then, what about you?" He was going to do everything he could to prolong the inevitable. "Do you have anything you would like to share, any dreams, any desires, any funny stories about being chased by wild pigeons?" Alistair smiled remembering Shale and her hatred for the foul creatures and how Ealasaid had loved to tease Shale about them.  
She remained silent and stoic for a few moments before finally saying, "My only desire is to be a good wife, and to bear you many strong sons." Alistair sighed again, slightly frustrated at the wall he was apparently talking to.  
"There must be something that you wish for, something that you long for."  
"I long to make you happy, my king." Alistair sighed disheartened.  
"Maybe I should ask it a different way. Who would you be if you weren't you? Who is Isabella the, not royal?" He grimaced at his awkwardness.  
"I wish nothing more for myself than what the Maker has given me, my lord." Alistair threw his hands up in the air. I wish I were talking to a wall, it wouldn't come up with such nonsense! he thought.  
"This isn't working," he finally said after a frustrated pause. "Maybe we should, just, get this over with." Alistair looked at her, her body visibly shaking. It's going to be a long night, he thought.  
He moved closer to her on the bed. Her shaking made him more nervous.  
"Please, relax," he begged. How was he supposed to fulfill his duty if she was so afraid of him? He reached for her again and though she recoiled at first, she forced herself to accept his touch.  
He recalled his first time, it had been the best night of his life. Though, he hadn't expected to fall in love with her, Ealasaid the beautiful elf goddess, being around her had been so intoxicating. It was hard for him to think of anything else. He gently caressed Isabella's young face.  
"It will be ok," he whispered to her. Her shaking persisted. He took the pins out of her hair, letting the long strands fall down her back. It was actually quite beautiful. He ran his hand through her hair loosening the curls that had formed while it was up. He cupped the back of her head and kissed the side of her face. He felt himself shaking as well.  
He took one of her hands and kissed it and then proceeded to kiss up her arm over the extravagant cloth till he reached her neck. Her skin was so cold he was almost surprised she was even alive. He closed his eyes and with all the courage he could muster, buried his face into her neck. He kissed it lightly up and down. He heard a light sigh escape her mouth. That was slightly more encouraging.  
He untied the front of her complicated corset, letting the gold string fall to the floor. It fell off onto the bed. Alistair grabbed it and let it fall to the floor. He unclasped the large beaded pearl necklace and unclasped the earrings hanging from her small ears.  
Alistair got off the bed and went to his knees to pull off her slippers. His slid his hand up her slim leg until he reached for the top of her bloomers. He wouldn't be able to it or her dress off while she sat.  
"Would you mind standing up for me?" He asked as sweetly as he could. Without a word Isabella stood up allowing him full access to her. He pulled off her bloomers and unzipped her dress letting it's girth hurdle down towards the floor. She covered herself embarrassed.  
Oh, right," he said realizing he was still fully clothed. He quickly removed the formal tunic and breeches. He tossed his smallclothes to the side. They stood together, naked and vulnerable. If you could sleep with Morrigan you can do this, Alistair. he thought, mentally preparing himself. It's for your country, he thought looking at the boy figured girl whose legs were swallowed up by the bulkiness of her dress on the floor.  
She wouldn't look up at him. Instead her eyes fell to the ground staring at nothing. He held out his hand to her. She didn't grab it.  
"My lady," he whispered to her. She timidly grabbed his hand and let him pull her out of the dress quagmire. He sat her down on the bed and she quickly laid down. She stared at the ceiling her cheeks turning red with embarrassment.  
Alistair climbed onto the bed and laid down beside her, propping himself up on his left elbow. She covered her flat chest with her hands. He stroked her cheek, his fingers tracing the outline of her chin. She was so young and fragile. He took in a huge breath and leaned into her.  
His lips met her cold face and his hand lightly fingered her hair. With his eyes closed he kissed her neck, his fingers trailing down onto her hands. He slowly drove his hand under hers till he could feel the slight lump of her breast. Even as he fondled her, she never moved.  
He eventually sent his hand southward till it reached the thick brush of her pubis. He massaged her gently, trying to evoke some sort of passion within her. His mind began to wander while he stroked her inner lips.

The young elf rogue sat by the campfire wearing only her cloth under shirt and breeches. Her leather vest, gloves, helmet, and boots sat clumped beside her. She was running her fingers over the intricate words of an historical tome she had recently found. The night air was crisp and tossed the long blonde hair that was usually kept in a bun. The reading routine was calming to her. She found that it helped her mind release the haunting images she carried within her. She mumbled a word storing it in her memory.  
Dirt crunched nearby signaling approaching footsteps. She broke her eyes from the lines and gazed upward and saw him standing close to her. He wore a loose white tunic dirtied from years of use and tight brown breeches that shaped his legs nicely. He shifted his weight anxiously.  
"I guess I don't really know how to ask you this," he sighed. She stood up, placing the text to on ground.  
"Ask me what?" she asked innocently. "You're sweating! Alistair are you alright?" She stared at him, confused. He wiped the glistening sweat from his brow, his hands folding over one another.  
He chuckled shyly. "No…yes…I mean…I'm fine. I just…" again he sighed. "You'd think this would be easier." He suddenly smiled, brightening up his face, his light brown eyes sparkling. His voice steadied finding a small ounce of confidence. "Every time I'm around you I feel like my head's going to explode, I can't think straight."  
"I hope you mean that in a good way," she smiled trying to hide her anticipation.  
"Hah. Yes…of course." He glanced down suddenly embarrassed by his awkwardness. He swallowed and once again gazed into her light green eyes. "Being near you drives me crazy, but I can't imagine being without you. Not…ever. I don't know how to say this any other way. I want…I want to spend the night with you. Here in camp." He looked to the ground. "Maybe this is too fast, I don't know, but I know how I feel." His eyes held a vicious intensity she had never seen before. It took her breath away.  
"I wanted to wait," he continued, "for the perfect time, the perfect place, but when will it be perfect? If things had been perfect we wouldn't have even met." He boldly stepped forward closing the gap between them. "We sort of stumbled into each other and despite this being the least perfect time, I still found myself falling for you. I don't want to wait anymore. I've…I've never done anything like this before you know that."  
She nodded, "I know, neither have I." He held her chin with a single finger, his grin growing wider.  
"I remember." His smile dimmed slightly. "I was just thinking, what if something were to happen to one of us, or both of us. I'd like to be able to say that I threw caution to the wind at least once in my life." She grabbed his hand and pulled it around her waist. She kissed him lightly, with unexpected audacity.  
"I suppose that's a yes, then," he grinned. She smiled back.  
"Yes."  
Taking her hand the two walked over to her tent and pealed back the flap. The fire outside created a soft orange glow inside. Both their bodies were fraught with excitement. He cupped her face and leaned down to kiss her. Her unruly body drew closer, her hands tenderly placed on his chest. He released his hands from her face and slid them gently down her neck and over her shoulders. He took off her soft cloth shirt and loosened her breeches letting them slide down her slim body exposing her fully. He stood back taking in her naked beauty.  
"Maker, but you're beautiful," he smiled, his breath becoming heavy. His eyes focused on her young, supple breasts and he reached for them. He cupped one in each hand. Without hesitation he lunged for them, his mouth consuming the soft skin ravishingly. She gasped and smiled in delight feeling his touch on her. Her stomach jumped feeling a rising need inside her and a dampness between her legs. He licked her breast up to her neck kissing it passionately. He hugged her tightly bringing her body firmly against his. She moaned and let her fingers grab his hair.  
She reached down and tugged at his tunic and snuck her hands underneath feeling the beat of his heart in a furious rampage. He helped her pull the shirt over his head and threw it negligently to the ground. She looked down and saw the bulge in his trousers. She swallowed down her apprehension and reached for the sinew strings that held the material together. His hot breath hit the back of her neck raising all the little hairs there to attention. His hands reached for her head and he let his fingers entangle in her hair. Her inexperienced fingers fumbled feeling the pressure of his cock against them. She giggled nervously. After several fruitless attempts she finally loosened the strings, allowing them to slide off. His smallclothes had been unable to fully restrain his growing manhood, its head peaking out over the waist band. She quickly slid off the waste of cloth freeing his erection fully.  
A hard quiver shook her body. She returned her eyes to her lover's face his eyes penetrating deep inside of her. He brought her face to his and kissed her hard. She grabbed the skin at his side, his muscles clenching, his cock pressing hard against her abdomen. He forced himself to let go and the two knelt to the ground.  
She shuffled back onto her bed roll as he crawled on top of her, his eyes never wavering in intensity. She spread her legs and lay down her head, his hand behind her. He maneuvered himself settling down just outside her throbbing slit. The head of his cock tickled her clitoris making her shiver. He grinned at her delight. He put his weight onto one side using his free hand to help guide him into her.  
He moaned as he slowly pushed into her depths, the warm slick skin of her cunt inviting. He pushed till he felt a slight resistance. She arched and moaned her body becoming uncontrollable. He returned her moan with a sigh, his eyes fluttering.  
She grabbed his arms, her nails digging into his biceps. He rocked back and forth his cock almost slipping out, his moans growing louder till they become screams. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist.  
His momentum increased and his thrusts became harder. He went in further, his tip touching her womb. She screamed in pleasure. She had never felt anything like this before. Even when she had touched herself in privacy, it lacked the passion, the intensity that she felt now.  
Her eyes shot open as her insides burst and pulsated. Her breath became uneven with panic and pleasure. This was the satisfaction that she had always wanted, but could never find by herself. She screamed again and her body convulsed becoming a disconnected being.  
He matched her scream and shouted her name as his orgasm violently took over his body. He sucked in air through his teeth and moaned again feeling the last drop of his seed spill out of his body, painting the walls of her vagina and leaking out onto her thighs.  
He crumbled to her side leaving a weary arm around her waist. They turned to stare at each other, their faces calm and still. After a long stretch of silence he chuckled.  
"What?" She asked catching his laugh.  
"According to all the sisters in the monastery I should have been struck down by lightening by now."  
"Lightening…hmm?"  
"Although," he stroked her cheek, "if you are to get struck afterwards, I don't see it as much of a deterrent." She could do nothing but giggle. He kissed her again and nuzzled her cheek. Her eyes closed, drifting off to sleep. He lifted himself onto an elbow watching over her as she dreamed. He stared enchanted by the rise and fall of her chest until he too could no longer resist slumber's call.

Inspired by his memory, Alistair felt heat rush to his loins and his erection finally made an appearance. He moaned loudly into Isabella's neck. He leaned in closer letting his body touch hers. He lifted himself up and placed his body in between her stiff legs.  
He lifted them higher allowing him access to her womanhood. He grabbed his organ and placed it at the entrance of Isabella's reluctantly wet slit.  
She cried out as his member stretched her virgin cavern beyond its limits. She screamed loudly feeling the thin layer of skin inside her break, blood pooling at its rupture. Tears streamed down her face unrestrained yet she remained still save for her compulsory shaking. Blinded by his daydream, Alistair's rhythm increased until it reached its full potential and he released his seed all over Isabella's inner walls and snowy thighs. He breathed hard into her neck as his body recuperated from the short loveless event.  
Spent, Alistair awakened from his erotic dream and stared down at the pitiful creature weeping below him. Her eyes were closed and her cheeks stained with wetness. Her head was turned to the side and her hands, still atop her breasts were smothered by Alistair's strong masculine body. She softly whimpered turning her face as far into her pillow as she could in her position.  
Feeling guilty for ignoring her apparent pain, Alistair got off of her quivering body and sat beside her and stared at his hands. Isabella curled up into a ball on her side away from him and softly cried. Alistair glanced at her back trying to think of something comforting to say. He didn't realize that he could hurt her so badly. His first time with Ealasaid had been a magical experience. He again pictured the beautiful elf lying on her back, her eyes begging for him to couple with her and him willing to oblige.  
Unable to think of anything to say to the frazzled girl, Alistair let out a heavy sigh and got off the bed. He grabbed his pillows and laid them on the floor resolving that he would spend the rest of the night on the floor, ashamed and embarrassed. He grabbed the covers and lightly placed them over the shivering sobbing body of his new wife. He found a robe nearby and decided to use it for his own blanket and fell to the floor in an attempt to sleep.

Alistair tossed and turned all night on the cold, hard floor, trying to fight off the dreams that were haunting him. He could see Ealasaid, her lovely face shining brightly, her lips red and smiling, her body draped in light transparent sheer silk. Relieved at her presence, Alistair rushed to her. He kissed her passionately, his troubles fading in her warm feminine embrace. His hands felt her strong muscles taut underneath her smooth and succulent skin. He tasted the sweet juices of her mouth encapsulated by the smell of her skin so close to his nose. A strange sound broke his reunion. Confused Alistair released his hold and looked around and when he turned back his elven Venus was gone, her image replaced by a disfigured, mewling, white shadow.  
Ealasaid where are you? His dreaming mind questioned. He called out her name again in a panic, Ealasaid! The wailing ghost came closer, its cries growing louder and more unnerving. Blue cold eyes lanced through him stabbing his heart until he cried out in pain.  
Where is she? The howling ghost cackled. The environment around him, unnoticeable in his previous romantic fervor, became dark and twisted. He couldn't recognize any shapes, only hear the maddening rise of the apparition's shrieks that became more animalistic with each haggard breath it took.  
Maniacal laughter broke through overhead. A voice of indiscernible gender rose and fell in a horrible pitch. Black shapes moved around him, suddenly recognizable as genlocks and hurlocks rushed towards him, their battle cry a horrid carnal scream. He turned in circles absorbing the sight of the massive army before him.  
He stepped forward to lunge at a creature then realized he possessed no weapon. One of the creatures gored him through with a crude and grotesque broad sword, its sides lined with spikes. He felt it rip through his flesh as another thrust came from behind, deep into his back. He looked down to see dark crimson blood gush from the wounds. The air around him got colder and his vision blurred.  
His body was knocked from side to side as angry beasts took their turn to ravage him with their mutilated weapons. Deep consuming blackness took hold of him. The pain was gone, feeling was gone. His body crumpled to the shadow that was the ground, and there he lay; broken and alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Weeks passed and on the nights Alistair could sleep, he found himself still having terrifying nightmares. The premise was always the same. Ealasaid, elven temptress, divine enchantress, in all her beguiling splendor, would embrace him fervidly comforting his maimed soul and then just as before, she would vanish suddenly, leaving him to face his perpetual doom alone.  
Before the Archdemon had been slain, he had been troubled with dreams of darkspawn. Those seemed different from the ones he had now. His dreams now were more twisted, more bleak.   
During those tumultuous weeks, Alistair routinely found himself either sleeping in his own private bedroom or, more recently, pacing the long labyrinthine halls, eventually drifting off to doze in his throne room. He struggled looking at his new wife. Every breath she made reminded him of her sobs. Every glance into her eyes reminded him of the tears streaming out of them.   
He refused to put her through another traumatizing night. Yet, there was some conflict. He needed an heir, it was the reason for the marriage contract. How could he convince the fearful creature that was his wife to lie with him again after he unexpectedly violated her? Would he be able to touch her without his mind drifting off to his elven siren? He would have to find a way to stay in the moment with Isabella, and he wasn't sure if that was possible.  
Eamon remained in Denerim. He had stayed in order to help Alistair with his transition into being king. Eamon prepared the everyday meetings involving the various royal concerns. Most of them he executed alone, while Alistair made up some excuse that would call him elsewhere. Alistair let the Arl take care of as much business as he was legally able. Eamon begrudgingly took over these duties, hoping that someday Alistair would shake off his ever building depression and become the great king Eamon knew he could be. The Arl knew the reason for Alistair's malcontent, and most of the time Eamon didn't blame him for his foul mood.  
Eamon considered himself lucky. He had fallen into a forbidden love with Isolde, the daughter of an Orlesian Arl. Orlais had invaded and captured Ferelden for over eighty years, reining in tyranny. The Arl of Orlais and his family had taken occupation of Redcliffe, Eamon's rightful place, but despite the war between the families, Isolde and Eamon found each other and fell in love.   
After Orlais had been defeated, Isolde agreed to stay and marry Eamon, against the wishes of her family and her people. He knew many nobles loyal to Ferelden didn't approve of the marriage either, some had been very outspoken about it, but Eamon had refused to listen to any of them, and instead chose with his heart. A decision not many nobles were able to make.  
Eamon was secretly disappointed that Alistair had not done the same with Ealasaid, but the circumstances were different. Isolde was still a noble even if it was from the distrusted Orlais. Ealasaid was a commoner and worse still for the throne, an elf.   
Eamon admired her regardless. She was a very strong woman, who had more courage than most men he had ever met and probably ever would. Whose beauty was comparable to the most beautiful human female he had ever seen, his Isolde. A woman who had loved Alistair vehemently.   
Eamon had seen the unquestionable love in her eyes, and he had seen it replaced with bitterness and pain when Alistair had decided to end their relationship for the crown.  
Even though Eamon didn't approve of Alistair's decision, he obligingly agreed to help him find a wife. Isabella Bentivoglio had seemed to be an acceptable choice. She was young, demure, and most importantly, a marriage to her would be tremendously beneficial to Ferelden creating a secure alliance between the kingdoms.   
Isabella would never be able to take the place of Ealasaid in Alistair's heart, but she was agreeable, and fair looking. She was the best bride for Alistair that Eamon could have hoped for in their current condition.  
Even so, Alistair's mood digressed into a brooding temperament. Eamon noticed Alistair's declining demeanor and decided to confront him about it. He found Alistair pacing the halls, an increasingly common ritual for the new king.  
"Your grace," Eamon started, "you seem to be troubled as of late." He thought it best to play ignorant, to let Alistair admit to his issues on his own rather than be told.  
Alistair continued his pacing, passing his uncle, refusing to acknowledge him.  
"Your majesty!" Eamon insisted following him down the hallway. He caught up to him and reached for his shoulder.  
"Please Eamon," Alistair pleaded, breaking his silence and his stride. "You don't have to call me that, you are my uncle after all." Alistair glanced up briefly and forced a smile before returning to his seemingly aimless wandering. Eamon nodded.   
"Then Alistair, what seems to be troubling you, my lad. Surely it cannot be the broccoli shortage the farms of the Hinterlands are struggling with." Eamon spoke sarcastically, baiting Alistair for an honest answer. Alistair ignored the joke.  
"It's a personal matter Eamon." Alistair mumbled. "I would prefer not to speak of it." Alistair tried to walk away, but Eamon grabbed his shoulder. There was only so much time Alistair could spend in melancholy. He had a country to run.  
"You are king now, Alistair, you should act more like it." Eamon spoke earnestly. Giving up on his feigned ignorance he continued, "You think you're the only man who had to marry a woman he did not love? Grow up, boy." Eamon shook him lightly.  
Alistair's mouth gaped, shocked at the old man's tone and blatancy. He started to argue, but stopped, realizing that Eamon would not be persuaded by his tenuous subterfuge. "Isabella is still not with child," Alistair admitted, concealing the fact that he had only tried once.  
"It's only been two months, Alistair." Eamon consoled. "As it is with any couple, it may take awhile, and with the taint in your blood it may take even longer."  
Alistair blushed, embarrassed. Eamon noticed Alistair's disposition.  
"There's more. What is it, Alistair?" Eamon prodded. Alistair remained silent, his blush darkening.  
"Alistair, you are performing you duty, aren't you?" Alistair refused to answer.  
Eamon's voice rose in anger, "Alistair, how do you expect to have an heir if you don't lie with your wife? I know you don't love her, but you have to do what's right for your country."   
"She cried, Eamon." Eamon's anger quelled and he let out a sigh.  
"That night, our wedding night, I tried to go slow. I hurt her, Eamon." Alistair's eyes welled. "How can I expect her to ever trust me again?" Eamon put his hands on Alistairs shoulders.  
"Being a king is never an easy task, my dear boy, but the two of you have a responsibility to Ferelden. She knows that. You must do what is right for your people. Your life belongs to them now. It is your royal obligation."   
"Now," he began, "go lie with your wife. Just be gentle. You may never love each other, but you can learn to care for each other." Eamon patted him on the should and walked away.  
Alistair stood alone in the hushed hallway. The candles against the dark painted walls flickered softly, their dim yellow light swirling through the noiseless air. Eamon was right, Alistair admitted. If Alistair ever expected to have an heir he would have to stop acting like a scared, selfish child.   
He had to concentrate on the future of Ferelden. He would have to learn to be intimate with his wife, without getting carried away with thoughts of his heart's muse. Alistair blushed at his foolishness. His purpose was no longer his own, a point he should always remember. He had to put away his indecisiveness and become the king his people needed. A king with an heir. If he wasn't, then all the heartbreak he had brought upon himself and the woman he loved would have been for nothing.  
Alistair opened the door to the drawing room. There she sat, Isabella, his wife. She spent most of her days in either the drawing room or the chantry, reading various canticles of Andraste and the Maker. She is dedicated, Alistair thought.  
She wore an emerald green dress covered in golden stitched circular patterns under a simple black corset threaded with golden laces. Isabella's hair was tied up in intricate braided strands, pearls sewn in with her bright hair. She sat silently in a large, gold, embroidered chair, reading The Sermons of Justinia II. Alistair took a deep breath and walked over to her.  
"We need to talk" Alistair said, the words echoing in his mind. The fireplace flickered in front of her, the shadows of its flames dancing on her skin.  
"You're disappointed with me, aren't you?" Isabella spoke softly, her eyes blankly staring at the page in front of her. "I haven't been a good wife," she continued. "You must be disgusted with my behavior. That's why you haven't touched me." Alistair stared at her dumbfounded.  
"I'm not disappointed. Not in you." Alistair shook his head in confusion. "I didn't want to hurt you again. I felt so bad for making you cry."  
"I'm sorry my Lord," she said, sheepishly. "I was being a foolish child." Isabella kept her head down, but she closed her book.  
"Isabella, you don't need to call me 'my Lord.'" Alistair stopped abruptly. Ealasaid had never treated him like royalty. After she had found out that he was the bastard son of the king, she continued to treat him like any other man. He had been so grateful for that small favor. Everyone else he knew, even Duncan, treated him differently once they learned the truth about his heritage. Alistair blinked and cleared his head of the alluring elf women.   
"Please, Isabella, call me Alistair. I might be the king, but I'm also your husband." He knelt beside her and touched her hand softly.  
"As you wish, my husband, Alistair." Isabella smiled to the floor.  
Awkward silence briefly settled in the air.   
"So I guess the real question is if you would be willing to try again." Alistair said breaking the rising tension. "I promise I will do better to make everything more comfortable for you." Alistair scratched the back of his head, unsure of exactly how that would happen.  
"I will do so, if my husband commands it." Isabella acquiesced.  
"Isabella, I don't command you to do anything." Alistair grabbed her hands in his. "I'm asking you."  
"It is my duty to do as you command, my husband." Isabella insisted.  
"Alistair." He sighed and squeezed her hands. How long would it take her to relax? he thought. She briefly looked at him and then turned away shyly.  
"I'll come to bed tonight," Alistair continued, "we'll see what happens." Alistair kissed her hands and left the room, hoping the night would go better, fearing deep down that it wouldn't.

The rest of the day went by quickly, despite Alistair's objections. Night fell and there was no more time to dawdle. He went to their shared bedroom. She lay in the bed stiff as if frozen. She wore a thick, shapeless shift.   
He undressed and laid down beside her. The night went better than the first night, but there was still plenty that needed to improve for their coupling to be truly enjoyable.   
The timid Isabella contributed nothing to the act, but she didn't object or shy away from Alistair's touch. He fondled her through her shift reaching under it only to reach her sex. He massaged it thoroughly and managed to get her wet. She blushed in embarrassed but did nothing more.  
He stroked himself trying his best to get an erection. Isabella turned her face to the side. He lifted himself on top of her and slid himself in. He closed his eyes again, trying to let the sensation of her slickness be enough to keep aroused. It only brought up memories of Ealasaid. He stopped when he caught himself starting to push too hard. It killed his erection.  
Alistair attempted to couple with Isabella twice more that night, but the thought of his lady precious refused to let go of his mind. Isabella wept again, this time feeling shame for being undesirable to her husband. Alistair again chose to sleep on the floor.  
Feeling a reinvigorated sense of duty from the talk he had with Eamon kept him from giving up. Thankfully, the next night was more fruitful. Alistair wasn't able to free his mind from his elven beauty, but he was able to find a soft rhythm that seemed to work for the both of them. He took his time with her, still imagining Ealasaid, but instead of letting his passion for her take over, he let it inspire him to explore. He used his mouth to explore her entire body and even though she never moved he swore he heard a moan.   
He had oil brought into the room and he used it to pleasure himself. He did so until he felt like he was about to burst. It was then that he finally entered her, allowing his seed to spill into her but not requiring the intense pushing that often hurt her.  
He had been proud of his success until he noticed Isabella crying underneath him. Alistair hadn't realized until afterwards that he had called out Ealasaid's name when he ejaculated. Damn it!  
After some time Alistair had finally gotten into a stable regimen of lying with his wife. He still thought of Ealasaid every time and he knew he shouted her name on occasion, but the act of coupling with Isabella had become easier, though she still cried afterwards consistently. He was at a loss of what he could do for her at this point.  
Alistair's nightmares had faded to the occasional night terror and his hopes rose that soon he might be a father and all the pain and embarrassment he had struggled with would be worth the effort.  
He was actually looking forward to having a child, even if it wasn't with whom he desired. The child would help to take his mind off his loveless marriage. The child would ease the burden of the having to rule an entire kingdom. The child would ease the loss of his beloved.  
He imagined the tiny creature wriggling in his arms. A small boy child, its small hands grabbing his finger, melting away all the despair and anger Alistair had in him. He imagined a small boy crawling along a large fur rug, trying his very best to stand and walk. He imagined a young boy practicing in the fields with a wooden sword.   
Alistair thought about what he would teach his son. Swordsmanship, archery, history, horseback riding, government; all the things a young prince needed to learn to become a great king. All the things that a young noble boy should learn. Yes, Alistair would be the father that he had never known.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Elves ran around in frantic excitement. Bright paper animals and flowers were hung in every window and off of every available tree branch. Meats that would take all day to cook were starting, pastries and pies were baking, and ales and wines mulled with spices of the season were out and ready for drinking. The Denerim Alienage was getting ready to celebrate their version of Summerday.  
Ealasaid sat by the Vhenadahl, the tree of the people. Its wonder was particularly majestic in the early morning hours when the orange, red light of the rising sun shined through the leaves. She ate a fresh berry pastry that she 'relieved' from a nearby open tray. It was still warm from the wood oven.   
Crumbs fell onto her new green woolen dress. It was far more ornamental than anything she had worn before, save her wedding dress. She bought it partially to help the dressmaker and her business. The other part was simply because she never had before.  
Growing up in the Alienage she had very little. Her father, a good man, struggled like any other to provide for his small family. The struggle became harder when Adaia, Ealasaid's mother, passed.   
It felt odd being back in the Alienage. Her family and friends felt like strangers. Her life had changed so much since becoming a Warden. She had seen things unimaginable, met people who were unforgettable, fought foes that were nightmarish. It was a life she, a city elf, would have never imagined for herself. It was a life that she would soon have to get back to.  
There were only a few days left before she would have to get back to the Wardens. She had recently been named the Warden-Commander and they would be looking to her for direction. As much as she loved getting out into the world, there was a rustic simplicity to life in the Alienage. It wasn't the world in peril. If only it wasn't so close to the palace.   
There was no where she could hide from her melancholy. With the Wardens, every messenger had his voice, every soldier had his face. In Denerim he sat on his throne only a few miles away. A throne that she helped him procure. Worst yet were the criers who announced his every movement. Even the peasants and elves alike spoke of him constantly.  
Alistair had been her lover. Her first love. He wasn't some arranged marriage like she had had with Nelaros. She had fallen for him like she had fallen for no other. She thought that he had fallen for her too. Perhaps an arranged marriage would have better, she thought. At least then, I would have known what to expect.  
He shattered her heart to pieces the night she had made him king. A night that should have been filled with merriment became one of the worst nights of her life. Worse still, later that night Morrigan came to her asking for a favor. The favor to bed Alistair. Ealasaid didn't even want to look at the betrayer's face let alone ask him something so intimate. The alternative was to die facing the Archdemon. In the moment, Ealasaid wanted death. Morrigan had convinced her to live. A man wasn't worth dying for.  
Ealasaid eventually agreed and made the awkward confrontation. She struggled to not break down or worse to break his face. Somehow she managed and looking back, Ealasaid was thankful. Despite the pain that Ealasaid felt every day, Morrigan had been right. Regardless of whether or not Ealasaid ever found someone else to care for, she was making a difference in people's lives.   
The thought brought her some peace. The other day while walking the market, before she bought her dress, she found a little girl crying. Some mean girls had pushed her around and stolen her doll. Ealasaid not only retrieved the doll, but taught the girl some moves that would allow her to defeat the bullies without harming them too much. She wanted the girl to know that while it was important to know how to protect yourself, violence was only to be used as a last resort.  
Ealasaid finished her pastry and headed back to her father's home. He was sweeping out the collected dust with a broom older than he. She had offered to buy him a new one, but he stubbornly refused. He wouldn't allow her to spend any of her money on him no matter how much she persisted. She relented, letting him keep his pride.  
"Good morning, Daughter," he said. He smiled brightly at her. She grabbed a nearby bucket and a clean rag and started washing the floor boards.  
"Good morning, Father," she tried to match his smile but fell short. He knew that something troubled her, though she had not spoken of it to him. He choose not to press her.  
"This year's festival will be the most spectacular in years," he said trying to engage. Ealasaid continued to wash the floor boards.  
"Shianni has been doing a wonderful job as the new hahren, don't you think, El?" She remained silent entranced in her work.  
"El." Silence. "Ealasaid!" He shouted. She shook her head coming out of a daze. "Daughter, I do not want to pry into your life. I know you have been through much that you do not wish to speak about, and I respect your privacy. However, I cannot stand idly by and watch you worry, especially when you will be gone soon and for who knows how long?"  
"I'm sorry, Father," she said ashamedly. He rested the broom against a wall and walked over to her kneeling down beside her. He put his arms around her and kissed the side of her head.  
"While I will not pry, I will listen if you choose to tell me what troubles you." She smiled weakly.  
"I don't even know what to say," she replied.  
"Speak to what is on your heart, dear one." He hugged her closer.  
"I feel betrayed," she finally said, tears coming to her eyes. "I feel like an idiot." She bowed her head at the admission. Cyrion lifted her head to look at her.  
"You are not an idiot for having feelings, love." He used his thumbs to wipe at her drowning eyes. "He is the fool for letting someone as precious as you go." Ealasaid couldn't help but smile.   
"I only wish I could take this pain away from you." He grabbed the wash rag from Ealasaid's hand and put it in the bucket and gave her a tight hug.  
"Come, that's enough cleaning," he said. Ealasaid began to protest.  
"Shhh, child. The market should be opening soon, let us browse its wares. Perhaps I will let you convince me to get a new outfit for tonight."

The palace was thick with tension making it stifling and unbearable as nobles arrived ready to celebrate Summerday. He needed to get out to breathe. As he often did when he felt this way, Alistair left his palace to enjoy the air of the city. The people would also be celebrating Summerday tonight, but their festivities would involve folk dancing and delicious delicacies. The nobles would make boring small talk, every other word would be a skillful lie.   
He roamed the market without any guards as he was wont to do. In his bland tunic and breeches he blended into the thick crowd easily. For the most part they ignored him completely focusing on their own merriment. He found himself by the Alienage, afraid to go in. It reminded him of her, but really everything did. He was unsure of her whereabouts. Rumors from the servants and various messages he received from the Wardens suggested she was currently incognito. She was attempting to take a short respite before taking up her post as Warden-Commander. It was highly likely that she would come home for such a break, but she could be anywhere. He decided it didn't matter. He was a man of the people and he would mingle with them tonight.   
A few of the elves recognized him as the king. Unlike the market, a human within in their ranks was noticeable. They appreciated his presence especially on such a special day. Apart from being the king, he had been accompanying one of their own when she saved them from a horrible death.   
They offered him everything they had. Cakes, meats, ales, spices, wooden carvings, pottery. He was invited to many of the homes for a personal supper, he was asked to dance by several of the young marriageable ladies who didn't seem to care that he was already married.   
Or that he was their king. All they seemed to notice this night was his charm and attractiveness. It was the first time since he took his crown that he felt like himself again. A templar drop out, who took perhaps too much pride in his hair, and had a love for fine cheeses.   
He smiled at their happiness. Only months before the Alienage had been on the verge of destruction. Slavers were taking their citizens and darkspawn threatened the lives of every man, woman and child. Only months ago he had been here with her.   
His smiled faded slightly. He shook his head trying to remove her from it. He couldn't let her affect him tonight. He had to be there for these people. They had to see him strong, virulent, not full of grief and devastation. He focused his mind on the nights events once more.   
A young child yelled loudly, getting caught up in the excitement of the night. Alistair glanced his direction. A short distance behind him, leaning against a pole a familiar elven woman stood with her arms folded. Her long, golden hair and new but humble forest green dress blew in the light but constant wind. She had a sad smile on her face as she looked on to the other children playing around her. He rubbed his eyes believing she was a hallucination. When he looked back up she was gone. He looked for her, but she seemed to have disappeared. It wouldn't have been a surprising trick considering her stealthy nature as a master rogue.  
A sharp slap hit his face.  
"How dare you come here!" The words were shouted at him. His vision blurred briefly. When he could see clearly Ealasaid stood before him, her eyes full of such anger that he became fearful. She slapped him again.  
"How dare you come here!" She screamed louder. Her shouts brought all bystanders to a stop. Her father, Cyrion, ran towards her passing through the gathering crowd and put an arm around her to keep her from attacking again. Fury possessed her. Alistair stood still with his mouth open. His mind struggled to recognize what was happening. It was only a matter of time before he saw her again. With their positions they would likely have to work together. Out of all the possibilities, the chance encounters, he never would have expected her reaction to be so enraged.  
She pulled against her father clawing at his arms, her eyes piercing daggers into Alistair's skin. Festival-goers stood all around them watching the display. They were unsure what to do. The last time a noble came to the Alienage and someone stood up against him, they died. So they did what they thought best and remained still and silent.  
Her father whispered something into her ear eventually calming her, and he slowly released her. She stood for a moment and then started to walk forward, closing in on Alistair. She stopped when she reached him and punched him hard in the nose. His head flew back and he heard his nose crack. She walked away slowly, not looking back.  
Cyrion took Alistair to a nearby shack. Ealasaid would be back home if she had listened to him. He apoligized profusely to the king. Alistair waved him off, grabbing his nose and setting it. He cried out. The pain hurt worse than the punch the broke it.  
"My liege," Cyrion pleaded. "Please, she is still so young and full of spirit." Alistair looked at him confused.  
"Cyrion, what..."  
"Please do not kill my daughter," he begged, expecting the generally short temperament of most nobles.  
"What?" Alistair blurted out.  
"She assaulted the king. Our people have been slain for less." He knelt beside Alistair, his hands grasped together.  
"Cyrion," Alistair said. "I would never. She's the Warden-Commander."  
"And you are the king." Alistair was handed a rag for the blood dripping down his face.  
"You don't need to worry, Cyrion. I deserved it." The man seemed unsatisfied. "She won't be punished." Alistair said. Cyrion still seemed worried, but he was less desperate.  
"You should probably head back to the palace, your eminence." Alistair nodded his agreement. He handed back the blood-soaked rag only to be told to keep it. He obliged and left the small house.

The festivities slowly started up again, though there were stares as he passed through the throng of people on his way out. He stopped by her father's house. She was sobbing right inside the doorway, collapsed on the floor. His heart broke all over again. He looked towards the way out across the bridge to the marketplace, but her sobs paralyzed him. He might regret it later, but he would let her beat on him if it gave her some solace.  
He walked up to the door. She was so loud and distraught she didn't notice him there standing behind her.  
"Ealasaid," he managed to say. Her name felt right on his tongue, and also guilty. She jumped hearing her name. She stared up at him, tears streaming down her blood red face. Her hair was frazzled from her hands grabbing it in fits.  
"Why?" She finally said through her gasps. He didn't know what to say.  
"Why?" She shouted louder. She leaped off the ground and lunged for him, pushing him hard enough to make him stumble, but not hard enough to make him fall. She kept on him beating his chest with her fists. He let her until she eventually collapsed into him, spent in despair. He put his arms around her and held her to him.  
"I'm sorry," he whispered. His own face began to stain with tears. He felt guilty again holding her. He shouldn't be here with her, but it felt right. She felt right. He stroked her hair. It's familiarity reassuring and soul crushing at the same time.   
He felt a resurgence of desire for her while he held her close to him. The warmth of her body, her flowery scent. It was all so intoxicating. She grabbed at his shirt. He pulled away feeling a rush that he was afraid he wouldn't be able to control. She looked up at him.  
He was weak. Standing before her, trying to run away, he just couldn't. He rushed her and grabbed her face. He kissed her hard on the mouth. It hurt his nose but he pushed past it. His mind told him to walk away, but his body couldn't escape her gravity.  
His hands went to her slight neck and then down her shoulders, then to her waist. He pulled her up to him. He cupped her ass with his hands, massaging it.   
She protested briefly, but gave in. She threw her arms around his neck letting him pull at her. Her hands mashed into his hair.  
He lifted the thick skirt of his dress, his bare hands on her bare buttocks. He lead her to a nearby counter. He lifted her up and placed himself in between her legs, shoving her skirt further up. His hands grabbed at her thick thighs as he continued to inhale her mouth. He put his face into the crook of her neck, nipping and kissing the skin.   
Her hands roamed his upper body. She pulled at him, grabbed folds of his shirt, and scratched his neck and shoulders. He reached inside his breeches and pulled out his fully engorged cock. He slipped it inside her easily. She gasped loudly accepting his girth.   
He kissed her chest, her throat, her shoulders. He couldn't get enough of her. He pushed back and forth into her with the severity of passion. He ripped the front of her dress and plunged his face in between her breasts.  
She moaned loudly, ripping the back of his shirt and raking her nails across his back and shoulders. She started moaning continuously and he began to echo her. The sound of his knees beating against the sides of the counter reverberated though the tiny house. Their passion swelled until it burst. They screamed together, their bodies convulsing and dripping with sweat. His seed dripped out of her and mingled with her own wetness down her inner thigh.  
Festival music played outside along with cheering and laughter, their panting following its rhythm. He cupped her face in his hands. He stared into her beautiful green eyes. Maker, how he had missed those eyes. They stared at him questioning, but drowsy from ecstasy. He couldn't bring himself to say any words.  
A crier rang in the market and crowds began cheering both human and elven. The news filled the air as the people began discussing it. It was an exciting time. The queen was pregnant.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The physicians confirmed it when he got back, after they crowded around him attempting to fix his nose. The queen was with child. He turned them away, ashamed and afraid that the wrong word or the wrong glance would tell them where he had been and what he had been doing. The smallest out of place gesture would betray his guilt. It would have been appropriate for him to see his wife, to congratulate her on the joyous news.   
Alistair was rarely appropriate and his ripped clothes and blood stained face proved that. He went to a wash room and cleaned off the dried blood. His eyes were black and blue and his nose was swollen. With the high influx of adrenaline and love hormones in his body he easily ignored the pain in his face. Now that they had subsided the pain came rushing in like a waterfall.   
He let one of the healers give him a salve and a potion for his pain. Someone tried to call for guards, but Alistair waved them away. Any nobles still awake began to gossip, some said that Alistair fought off an attempted assassination, others said it was a private duel with an old foe.   
He went to his bedroom, one that was just for him and sat down on his lush, satin covered bed. He folded his hands together and let out a deep and heavy sigh. He felt a sense of relief that lead into guilt. He felt like an addict who just got another hit of his drug of choice.  
He looked up and saw his reflection in the mirror. What was he going to tell his pregnant wife? How could he face her when he had just made love to another woman? He figured it was best to at least change into something else. The swollen nose and discolored eyes would be hard enough to explain without his added dishevelment, torn clothes and torn skin.  
He decided to at least wait till morning to see his bride. It was late and there was a possibility that she would be resting regardless. He couldn't sleep, however. The taste of Ealasaid's mouth and skin lingered on his tongue. The scent of her filled his nostrils. The soft touch of her skin lived in his fingers. Being with her again was like a beautiful dream. Maybe he should have kept her as his mistress.  
He doubted his pious bride would have felt the same. In everything she was the most conservative woman he had ever known, which included many of the Chantry sisters he knew growing up. In many ways having Isabella around felt a lot like living in the Chantry again. A feeling he was not keen on.  
In the morning, after eating a small breakfast of buttered toast he went to see her. She was sitting on an extravagantly designed bench in the garden reading yet another canticle of some kind. The bench was underneath an arbor covered in blooming wisteria vines. He felt a twinge of hatred towards her and her zealotry now that he had made the connection between her and his childhood.  
"You're with child then," Alistair blurted out. He had no intentions of staying for a long conversation. He just wanted to make it clear that he knew and then he would leave for other business. He knew any kind of conversation that would be had would lead into talks of the Maker and her duty.   
"Yes, I am," she said solemnly. "Are you pleased, my lord?" Her eyes remained on the passages before her. Good, he thought, she won't notice how horrible I look. Would she say anything, even if she did?  
"Oh...yes..." he stuttered. What else can I say to that? he thought. He scratched his head and then rubbed his elbows. He had given up attempts to get her to call him by name. "Are you...feeling alright?" Well, that was a stupid question.  
"Any pain that I feel is the will of the Maker, my lord." Of course it is, he thought.  
"Good luck with that then," he said walking away quickly, wanting to get as much distance between him and the insane woman who sat on the bench in the garden. He felt relieved that he wouldn't be expected to touch her during her pregnancy. 

News came that he would have to leave for Amaranthine. The Wardens had taken the castle there after the death of Arl Rendon Howe and the forfeiture of its estate from the Howe family. It would allow the Wardens to have a more established home in Fereldan. An idea that not everyone was excited about. The message said that he would need to leave immediately with a small contingency of troops. It stated that he and his army were needed to ensure that the darkspawn did not spread into the city around surrounding areas.   
As it happened, the Wardens didn't need him. Ealasaid had taken care of everything before he and his troops ever arrived. That's my girl, he thought to himself. Walking through the gates he saw her familiar outline standing ahead waiting for him. Seeing her there, in her dragon wing leather armor, felt like old times when they were fighting darkspawn together.   
She didn't speak much to him. The only exception were the few pleasantries they had to exchange and the updates on the Wardens' situation at the castle. Then there was something about a mage. She wanted to make him a Warden. A templar in his ranks made a commotion about him being an apostate. All Alistair could see was the man's svelte body and long golden blonde hair. The man had a witty and flirtatious manner that would understandably receive a lot of attention. He would have no problem getting the attention of any woman around him. Even an elven Warden-Commander.   
Her eyes never betrayed any emotion. The apathy made his fear and jealousy even stronger. It could already be too late. She hadn't been gone long, but their tryst might not have meant to her what it did to him. He wasn't even entirely sure what it had meant to him yet. He knew what he wanted it to mean. He wanted her to come back with him to the palace. He wanted to apologize for saying no to her. He wanted to pretend that the past several months had been some grand joke that they would laugh about once it was revealed as such.  
But it wasn't a joke. It was life. He had turned her away fearing her anger at having to share him with another. Because of his mistake she stood in front of him, emotionless. She treated him as a stranger. A royal stranger.  
He guiltily longed for a moment to themselves. He needed to explain himself, she needed to know how he felt. Their last foray had given him unexpected life. The guilt of betraying his wife was still there in his mind but it was deep within, a shadow. Ealasaid took up most of his mind. As much as she shouldn't have been, she was all that he could think of. He wanted to take her to the nearest empty room and explore every inch of her. Instead he had to turn his forces around immediately and go back home.  
Home was nothing but mind numbing, soul-crushing boredom. Endless meetings, constant threats of darkspawn, fabricated conversations with dishonest people. He felt useless. He should be out there fighting darkspawn like he was meant to do. He never wanted to be king. Every day made him regret his royal blood all the more.  
For all his hatred of the crown, he could never bring himself to blame Ealasaid. He knew that she chose him as the king in earnest. She chose with her heart. He could, however, blame a father who cared more for bedding elven staff, than the struggles of the children born to them.  
A month passed. According to the messengers, Ealasaid was still out chasing...something. He thought he heard the term "talking darkspawn," but that seemed to crazy to be real. Of course after everything that he had seen while a Grey Warden, maybe the idea wasn't so unrealistic.  
More bad news came when he found out that Isabella was bleeding again. She was no longer pregnant. He knew she would be upset, but there was nothing he could do to calm her. Unexpectedly, she actually refused him when he came to lie with her. He didn't really want to, therefore he found himself relieved. As king, Alistair knew he technically had every right to take her as he wished, regardless of her wants. There was no possible way Alistair could ever do that to her. He let her mourn alone.  
His feelings were mixed. Isabella refusing him gave him an excuse to avoid her. That eased some of his tension in dealing with her. Eamon, who was still at court, left him alone for the most part. Alistair did his best to avoid him anyway.

With her mission finished, Ealasaid returned to the Denerim palace to inform the king of everything that happened on her mission. She could have sent a messenger with a formal note, but she wanted to deliver the information herself. Her adventure was far too interesting to write down in a simple note. A book perhaps. Someday. Not today, and most certainly not written by her.  
She wasn't sure how to feel about Alistair at the moment. It had been a few months since she last saw him. Their affair had been sudden and she wasn't sure what it meant. Alistair quickly left after the crier ran through the crowds announcing the queen's pregnancy. He said nothing, but he kissed her heartily and paused briefly in the doorway to look back at her. He seemed to struggle leaving her.  
When she made him king and he decided to break off their relationship, she mentioned the idea of being his mistress. It seemed like an easy decision. Many kings and royalty in general had mistresses. Some of their wives even had friendships with them. There was no real reason why she couldn't be his.   
He rejected the idea. He said that it wouldn't be fair to her, that he wouldn't be able to face her after sleeping with another woman. She didn't like the idea necessarily. Having to share him with someone else wasn't ideal. However, she understood the situation and if it meant that she could be with him, then she would gladly suffer it.  
Maybe he's changed his mind, she thought. Maybe the horrid, boring reality of daily life proved too much for him and he needed her. Or maybe he was just using her, afraid of making any sort of real commitment to her. She sighed in uncertain frustration. She probably shouldn't have allowed him to have his way with her. In that moment however, she felt so weak.  
Her horse and small battalion of guards entered the city, the people still praised her for saving them the year previous. She got similar reactions where ever she went. She felt proud of what she had accomplished. She didn't, however, love all the praise. She understood their appreciation, but they did too much for her. They made her feel like more than a hero. They made her feel like a god.   
The thought disgusted her. She didn't choose the path of a hero, she was forced into it. How many others would have been at least as accomplished as her, if not more so, but never got to know their full potential for whatever reason? She didn't feel like a hero. She felt lucky.   
She hadn't defeated an Archdemon alone either. She had the help of loyal companions. People who, on their own, were well suited to fighting. People who had become her most loyal friends.   
Since the end of the Blight, they had all gone their own separate ways. She saw a few here and there. Wynne had been in the city of Amaranthine. Most however, were scattered to the four winds and it left her feeling very lonely. It made her struggle with Alistair all the more unbearable.  
As she and her contingent passed through the gates to the palace, servants ran up to help them off their horses and later lead the animals to the stables for safe keeping. Ealasaid's leather armor crunched as she walked up to the main doors. The sound echoed through the courtyard, making her feel self conscious. She still felt like the elf peasant who grew up in the Alienage. A rebel she might be, but that didn't mean she never felt the anxiety of it.  
She walked down the familiar, decorative halls. The rich tapestries unfolding a heroic story of king Calenhad. They ranged from his youth as the son of a poor merchant to his glorious days uniting Ferelden in his famous silver armor. The final image depicted him receiving his crown and becoming the first King of Ferelden.  
Each step was agonizing. What would be at the end? Would she find answers? Or simply another punch to her sore gut? Guards saluted her as she passed, their ceremonial metal armor clanking. Their faces were masked which made her slightly nervous. Anyone could be hiding in those suits, her suspicious mind thought.  
She reached the throne room. Its splendor always amazed her. How so few people could have something so grand while others had nothing was an appalling idea to her. Still, it was wondrous. Few places that she had seen matched its splendor. Maybe she just needed to see more palaces.  
She saw him before her. He was pacing back and forth in front of the throne. He didn't seem to notice that she was walking towards him.   
"Your Majesty," a somewhat familiar voice rang out. Alistair came out of his thoughts and looked forward. His gaze met hers directly. Her steps hesitated briefly, she felt all her courage bleed out. She took in a deep breath and found enough left over bravery to continue forward.  
Eamon stood next to Alistair as his advisor and had been the one to call out. He continued, introducing Ealasaid as if she needed any introduction. Alistair rushed to the throne and sat down, fidgeting like a child. She walked up the carpeted stairs and went down on one knee.  
"My Lord," she said, her voice quivered uncontrollably and she bent her head forward to complete the bow. Her fists clenched in embarrassment. She wanted to have more control of her body, but he possessed her.  
"Oh, yes. Um, rise. You may rise? Do we really need all of this ceremony?" He asked assumingly to his uncle. She heard a long, drawn out sigh before lifting her head and standing up.  
Awkward silence filled the room as no one spoke. Armor clanked as soldiers shifted their weight. Alistair stared at her making her uncomfortable. She darted her eyes around feeling them wander over her. She cleared her throat.  
"My Lord," she began. She proceeded to tell him all the details of her most recent adventure. The captivating allure in his eyes changed as she mentioned the strange new creatures she discovered in the Blackmarsh. His face became concerned when she told him about the Architect and the Mother. He almost leapt off the throne when she told him how she had faced and destroyed both.  
"Maker's breath!" he exclaimed with a slight smile on his face. He was sitting at the edge of his seat, hands gripping the arms of the throne so hard that his knuckles turned white. "So they were real?" he said. "Talking darkspawn. I heard the rumors but found it hard to believe." His mouth gangly hung open as his mind went back over the incredible information that he just been given.  
He rubbed his chin shutting his mouth. "How many broodmothers did you kill, at Kal'Hirol?" Ealasaid shifted her weight and rubbed a hand down her opposite arm.  
"Three, maybe four?" She said uncertainly. "I was a bit busy trying to not die."  
"And this Architect, fellow. You said he was using Warden blood to awaken the other darkspawn?"   
Ealasaid nodded her head.  
"Maker." This voice came from Eamon who stood solemnly beside Alistair absorbing the story. Although he tried to remain poised, Ealasaid's story disturbed him. "Thedas is lucky you refused this mad man and ended him," he continued.  
"I admit, I found his actions admirable," she said honestly. "He was trying to find a way for his people and ours to exist in peace. Peace is always an admirable goal."  
"Yes," Eamon replied. "A shame the cost would have been too great."  
"Talking darkspawn," Alistair said under his breath. His hand covered his mouth and he stared at the floor. Silence again rang through the air, Ealasaid's story weighing on everyone's mind.  
The meeting ended. Ealasaid had hoped to speak to Alistair alone afterwards, but Eamon ushered her and her soldiers out. Alistair had kept asking for details, and details for the details. Unfortunately, he had other meetings for the day that Eamon wouldn't let him forget. So Ealasaid was given a comfortable and fancy room for her to stay in. She was free to stay at the castle as long as she required.  
There was nothing for her to do with the Wardens, at least nothing that she was yet aware of. She needed to speak to Alistair anyway. Although the idea of speaking to him set her nerves on fire, she needed to know what was going on between them. She wouldn't leave Denerim without an answer.  
She removed her armor slowly and let down her hair from its traditional bun. Her mind was racing. Several fancy dresses hung in her closet. They all fit her petite nature. She thumbed through them finally picking a regal sky blue dress made of velvet and laid it on her bed.   
A bath had been drawn for her. Fully nude she dipped in a cautious toe. It was still warm. She eased herself in, her muscles immediately relaxing as she let out a sigh. Oils scented it. Jasmine, lilac, and rose. It was a similar concoction to what she used when she bathed. Someone remembered. She inhaled the scents and let them permeate her insides.  
She washed herself slowly, letting the soap covered wash rag soak her skin with fresh lavender. She waved her hands through the water watching it ripple, letting the motion soothe her worried mind. It was only when the water got cold that she got out, reluctantly.  
She turned to her vanity, walked over to it and sat on the plush seat set before it. She fingered through her long soaked hair and then combed out the wet tendrils. It had grown so long. Its slick length glided through her fingers and the teeth of her comb.  
She left her hair down in a simple twist. She donned the gown she had picked out earlier and walked out of her room. She had been given free reign of the palace, but there was only one place she wanted to go.   
She entered the blooming garden. Flowers, bushes, trees, and vines all swayed in the wind welcoming her. She wandered through inspecting every blossom. Her people didn't love nature the way that the Dalish did, but she still appreciated its beauty. Perhaps she appreciated it even more because of how little foliage grew in the Alienage.  
She heard a skirt rustle. A short distance away sat a petite girl. Her dress was incredibly ornate and in her lap was a large tome, the title of which she couldn't see. The girl's hair was pinned back in several twists with many beads running through it. She had a certain beauty to her. Ealasaid debated whether to speak to her, eventually deciding it best to leave her to her reading.  
A nearby hand maiden brought the girl a cup of tea which the girl took and sat beside her on the bench.   
"My Lady," the hand maiden said, bowing and clasping her hands together. "Is there anything else that you require?" The girl put her hand on the page she was reading and looked up. The palest blue eyes lit upon Ealasaid and pierced through her. A frown crossed the girls face, or rather a deeper frown.   
"Elf," she said authoritatively, her voice laden with an Antivian accent. "I don't recognize you from the garden staff. Why are you here?" Ealasaid froze, stunned at the forcefulness of the words. A small surge of anger waved through her as she recalled the many nobles who had talked down her while she had lived in the Alienage. Some even after she had become a Grey Warden.   
"I'm not a servant, my Lady," Ealasaid said annoyed. "I am a guest of his Majesty."  
"Guest?" the girl said. "An elf as a guest, how preposterous. Tell me now, who you are and what are you doing in my garden?" Ealasaid's skin prickled. She wanted to grab the girl's slender neck and choke her till the life left her eyes. She thought better of it.  
"My name is Ealasaid Tabris and I am the Commander of the Grey Wardens." The words were spoken clearly, slowly, and aggressively. Ealasaid stared at the youth defiantly. The girl's hand maiden curtsied at the title.  
"My lady," she said. She was also an elf. The hand maiden kept her face down trying to hide a large smile on her face.  
"An elf as a Grey Warden," the young girl said her voice between question and statement. She was clearly uncertain, but something held her back from saying anything more derogatory. Ealasaid decided to leave the garden, all solace lost, and afraid of making a rash judgment that even as a Warden would get her in trouble. As she walked away, the girl cleared her throat.  
"You should bow when leaving the presence of your queen." The queen kept her eyes forward. Ealasaid's step stumbled. The queen? This was Alistair's queen? This pitiful creature? She wasn't even full a woman yet. Ealasaid turned around begrudgingly walking back to her and gave a mocking bow before finally walking away.   
Ealasaid spent the rest of the day in the library. She didn't actually read anything, her mind was too full. Instead she pawed through some maps and scoured the shelves.   
She chose to eat her dinner in her room where she retired for the evening. It was a typical meal of roasted meat, cooked vegetables, and bread. Nothing too fancy. The wine, however was delicious. Sweet and warm. Antiva's best.  
Fire crackled in her fireplace. The pale moon came out and shined its delicate and soft light through the window. She remained at the small table where she had eaten in her bedroom and wrote notes. Some were letters to her men, orders and jobs for them to do while she was away. She had given them some before she left, but more ideas came to her. Others were notes of the day. A journal that kept the memory of her adventures. It served to remind of her what she could accomplish, especially on the days where she felt like she couldn't do anything. The feeling she felt when she saw Alistair's face.  
A soft knock rapt the door. Ealasaid's rogue training kicked in and she swept to the side of the door, the small knife used to cut her meat held in her hand ready to strike. She twisted the knob and let the door open slowly. A hand pushed the door in cautiously. Finally a face appeared and she dropped her stance.  
"Alistair," she said placing the knife back onto the table where she had been eating. She still wore the sky blue dress she picked out earlier, its skirt drifted over the ground as she walked back from the table to close the door. "I was wondering if I was going to get a chance to speak to you privately." She folded her arms, annoyed, but also to keep him from noticing that she was shaking.  
He folded his hands together, his thumb massaging the inner part of his other hand.  
"Eamon wouldn't let me go until I had finished speaking with every whining noble in all of Thedas apparently." His mouth formed a weak smile.  
"Ruling a country isn't easy, Alistair, but you're still the best man to do it." She knew how he felt. As Warden Commander and the steward of Amaranthine, she had to deal with every problem on her lands. Some were serious, of course, but many were petty complaints of selfish lords and ladies, many of whom were trying to find ways to circumvent the law.  
Alistair looked at her and his smile faded. She could see in his eyes that his mind was racing.  
"I know you have to deal with it too." He looked away to the floor. Silence filled the air. Both of them were afraid of what would happen next. It was Ealasaid who broke the tension.  
"Alistair." She walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. He faced her again. This time sorrow filled his eyes.  
"What happened back at the Alienage?" Her voice sounded stronger than she felt. He opened his mouth but couldn't seem to find the words.  
"I don't know," he said finally. "I just saw you crying and I couldn't leave you like that." She saw tears streaming down his red cheeks. "I love you," he sobbed. "I will always love you." He stroked her cheek that was also wet with tears. She grabbed his hand and held it to her face. The weight of it, the smell of his skin, all brought memories back of when they had been together in camp. All those quiet nights where they explored each other, told each other secrets and desires.   
He leaned over and softly kissed her forehead, then her wet eye, then her left cheek.  
"I was wrong, Ealasaid." He lightly kissed the top of her lip. "I can't live without you. I just can't do it. The queen is a miserable old woman, trapped in the body of a child." Ealasaid smiled.  
"I know. I met her." He pulled back to look into her eyes. His face drifted forward again and planted a passionate kiss onto her mouth. His other hand went to her waist and held her to him.   
Her mouth was like a fresh fruit. It was juicy, sweet, delicious. Every bite was rapture. Her soft velvet dress was smooth underneath his hand. He wanted something smoother. He lifted his hand to her neck, she grabbed his elbows in a soft but firm grip. His fingers walked down her shoulders finding the seam of her dress. His thumbs went under the fabric and he pulled it to the side. The neckline was just large enough for the entirety of the dress to go down over her body.  
In one swoop, the dress was on the ground in a heap of elegant cloth. She was naked before him. Her body was a treasure. Bronze skin, silken gold hair, and emerald green eyes. She reacted by helping to remove his own clothes.   
His outfit was fairly simple as well. Dark, royal blue tunic and rich, russet brown breeches. His boots were the hardest to get off. He had to sit down on her bed to pull them off. They laughed at the complication. He scooted back on the bed and she joined him.  
They laid next to each other, caressing with their hands and mouths. Unlike the obsessive passion of their last coupling, this time they wanted to go slow. To reintroduce themselves to each other.  
Alistair leaned over her and began kissing her neck, moving down to her breasts. He gave each a soft suckle before moving down her stomach. She rested her hands above her head letting him have her body as he wished.  
He continued downwards resting his face on the soft flesh of her mound. He spread her legs easily and got between them. His lips reached hers. He sucked, licked, and nipped at the tender flesh, his hands lightly squeezing her buttocks.  
She bucked against him, her desire growing. He drank her sweetness, lapping up every drop he could get like a man dying of thirst. He bit at her thighs leaving red marks. He wanted to enter her so they could release together, but she closed her legs refusing him. A wry smile crossed her lips and she nudged him to her side with her legs.  
She wanted the taste of him on her lips. She repeated his actions over his body, licking and kissing his skin as she made her way to his fully erect phallus. She teased him letting her fingers tickle his testicles and her tongue lightly lap his length. His fingers went for her hair, losing it from the twist she had put it in.   
She grabbed his testicles lightly and massaged them, her hand sliding up the bottom of his shaft and repeating. She engulfed his girth into her sweet supple mouth. Its warmth was intoxicating causing Alistair to let out a long moan. She let him slip to the back of her throat before pulling him out and doing it all over again.   
She kept her pace slow and steady, even when his body protested for him. The grip his hands had on her hair tightened and his moans became more frequent and hungry. To tease him more she straddled him letting his length massage her clitoris and outer lips, but still refusing him entry.   
His bit his lip, struggling to maintain his composure. She continued to rub against him, stimulating both of them and spreading her juices all over his abdomen marking him with her scent. The pressure in both of them increased. She reached for him, her fingers digging into his pectorals. His hands grabbed her buttocks increasing the pressure of her on top of him.  
The pressure couldn't be held back long and soon they were both shouting, perhaps a bit too loudly, in ecstasy. He drained his seed on his lower abdomen, mixing with the juices she left there. She collapsed onto him feeling his heart and hers beat together in unison.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five 

Ealasaid remained at the palace, sending messengers to communicate with the rest of the Wardens. With no immediate threat to Thedas she found herself listless. She did her best to avoid the queen by spending much of her time with the soldiers, helping them train, or in the stables taking care of the horses. The few times she did see the queen were the days she spent in the library researching. The meetings with the queen always went poorly. While no harm came to either of them the tension surrounding them felt staggering.  
It was very likely that the queen knew what was going on between Ealasaid and Alistair. Or she really just hated elves. She never spoke, only looked down her pointed nose with a stern frown. Considering Alistair had spent every night with Ealasaid since her arrival, she assumed more the queen knew. The fact that she was an elf only served to make matters worse. Antiva wasn't particularly negative towards elves, Ealasaid had heard, so the queen's behavior was most likely solely out of spite.   
The queen would usually make a rude comment about elves and the audacity of allowing them into libraries or castles. All was said with her nose pointed so high, Ealasaid almost thought the girl's neck broken. These cruel jests were largely ignored, save for maybe an accidental slip of salt into the queen's chamomile tea, or a spill of something that would stain finding its way to one of the queen's many extravagant dresses.   
Regardless, with so much time on her hands she decided it was an opportune time to research the Calling as much as was possible. Not much literature spoke of it. Any information it did have was mostly in context of the great stories of heroes of the Blight. Their perspectives were recounted by Chantry Brothers and Sisters.   
Ealasaid settled into the castle as best she could. Many nobles turned up their noses at her when she would pass them, despite her status as Warden-Commander. With the Blight over many people seemed to have forgotten the peril they had been in. People who once groveled for her help now treated her like one of the servants. It didn't just speak of how fickle they were, but how poorly they treated the help.

Ealasaid was on her way to the kitchens to sneak a treat when she heard scrambling. Furniture was being tossed and yelling could be heard. Trouble brewed in the cellar. Strange sounds came from the floors and the walls. A sickly scampering that she had heard before, but couldn't seem to place off hand echoed in the hallway.   
She continued forward getting closer to the disturbance. Servants ran out screaming when something eventually broke through. Ealasaid's training took hold of her and she went running towards the chaos.   
Inside the dark and dank cellar something skittered. She drew a dagger that she always kept on hand, hidden in one of her boots. The creature screeched and leapt at her. It was a giant spider.   
Its legs were all around her, its fangs dangerously close to her face. What light there was reflected off its multiple eyes. She stabbed and heard the sickly squish of blade through flesh. The spider screamed in pain before falling to the ground. Ealasaid grabbed one of the few lit candles and saw the great hole in the wall. She stepped to it.  
Webbing filled the hole from floor to ceiling. She headed inside, the smell of earth, corruption, and beast filling her nostrils. The darkness grew more intense. She felt it suffocating her. It was the Deeps Roads all over again.  
Something skittered in front of her. Another. There were at least a half a dozen of these foul creatures in the tunnel. Something must have forced them out of their home for them to come so close to humans.  
The path widened. She struggled to keep her feet from getting stuck in their thick and sticky webs. She used her dagger to help clear the way, white silken threads entangling it. More skittering.  
Suddenly, they were upon her. She dropped the candle, its fire igniting the webbing. Many of the spiders caught fire and squealed in pain, the fire crackling as it ate their skin. She stabbed one in the thorax and it fell. Another came from behind and knocked her down. Her hands reached forward keeping it from impaling her with its dangerous fangs as it overwhelmed her.  
She kicked it in the abdomen but it did nothing. She brought her legs up and with a powerful kick knocked the spider back. It lunged at her again. This time she was ready and she quickly jammed her blade into its mouth. She felt its insides on her wrist before it sloughed off, dead.  
The fire continued to burn. She gasped when she realized that she was in a nest. These weren't a few sporadic spiders but a battalion of the them. Fortunately, most were still eggs easily quelled by the fire that was spreading.  
She ran back through the tunnel to escape the fire but halted. Something blocked her exit. It barely fit the smaller tunnels but it was attempting to escape as well. It was larger than the other spiders. It was their queen. Ealasaid attempted to slide under her making it far enough to gut her.   
The spider queen cried out but did not fall. Instead she stomped the ground almost crushing Ealasaid in the process. Ealasaid leapt out of the way and grabbed onto the queen's large abdomen and began jabbing her dagger into the bulbous flesh. The spider bucked knocking Ealasaid backwards and turned around clumsily due to the tight quarters.   
The spider lunged at Ealasaid, one of its fangs jabbing into her outer thigh. Ealasaid screamed while she brought down her dagger into the queen's face. Thick, black ichor splashed her face as the queen fell, bested at last.  
Ealasaid hobbled back through the tunnel the pain in her leg numbed by adrenaline. The fire behind her continued to burn, lapping up every last thread of webbing. Nothing living was left behind.  
Soldiers stood in the cellar watching her return. They were equipped to go into battle after seeing the servants running in terror.   
"You're a little too late, gentlemen," she said, continuing to hobble to a nearby table. The fire behind her died down as the webbing was consumed and the cold wet stone refused to hold the flame. Alistair rushed in, panting. He was not in the shape he used to be.  
"Maker," he said running up to her and grabbing her to him. "Are you alright?" he asked.  
His hands went to her face brushing sweat, webbing, and ichor matted hair out of her eyes.  
"I'm fine, Alistair," she said, ignoring formality.  
"You shouldn't have gone in there by yourself." He was almost weeping. "Go back to your duties," he told the soldiers. They left quickly seeing that the situation was taken care of.  
"You could have been killed," he said refusing to let her go.  
"I've fought worse than spiders," she said smugly. He began kissing her face grime and all. His kisses turned passionate, desperate. He needed her and she need him. He lifted her onto the table she had been leaning against, pulling up her skirt. She pulled down his breeches just enough to free his erection.  
He immediately entered her waiting womanhood, gyrating back and forth. Their hands grabbed all over each other, clawing, tearing. Their moans grew louder, their speed grew faster. They climaxed together covered in sweat, blood, and visceral. They held each other panting. Alistair felt Ealasaid's weight fully pressed against him. She suddenly felt limp.  
He pulled back from the embrace and her body went with him. He had to stop himself to keep her from falling on the ground. She had fallen unconscious. He arranged her skirt and put away his deflated cock before lifting her body in his arms. He ran out of the cellar as fast as he could with her heavy weight.   
"Healer," Alistair exclaimed in shock. "I need a healer!" He screamed as loud as he could, his voice going hoarse from severity. He ran through the halls and up the stairs to the main floor. Guards saw him pass and dispersed as he shouted at them.   
Finally, reaching the main floor he fell to his knees. Despite his best efforts, royalty had softened him and he found it difficult to continue forward. His face dripped with tears, he felt defeated. His love lay in his hands and he had no idea if she would live or die.  
A healer came at long last, running swiftly, her long robes flapping violently around her. Her red hair like fire behind her. It was then, with the healer kneeling beside Ealasaid's paling body that Alistair noticed the large, pulsating gash on her outer thigh. In their passion he had completely ignored it.  
The healer grabbed the thigh feeling all over it. The wound oozed a sickly black puss. The healer looked up at him.  
"Her wound is infected, my Lord. We must get her to her room quickly. You there," she shouted at a cowering servant. "Go to my clinic and fetch me my assistant. Tell her I need everything we have for poisons." The servant looked at the king.  
"Go!" he yelled, frustrated at her hesitance. He tried to lift Ealasaid but the exertion proved too much. One of the guards took his place and grabbed her firmly and quickly took her to her room. Alistair followed slowly, panting and staggering in exhaustion the entire way up the second floor to her bed chamber.  
The healer who was versed in restorative magic began to work as soon as Ealasaid was laid on her bed. She leaned over the elf's body and began chanting softly, a blue light emanating from her hands. Even from the doorway where Alistair leaned against the wall, he could feel the warmth of the power.   
The healer's assistant rushed into the room carrying a bag of supplies. Without a word she went to work on Ealasaid's leg, pulling out vials of strange liquids and oddly shaped, sometimes cruel looking tools. The assistant used something that looked like tongs and pressed them against the infected area of Ealasaid's thigh. She placed a towel underneath as discolored black, red, and white swirled puss began to drain out of the wound.  
"The wound is deep," the healer called, taking a break from her magic. She wiped her forehead and drank from a glass of water left for her on a nightstand. She looked at Alistair.   
"My King, perhaps it would be better for you to leave us to our work. It could take hours to remove all the poison from her body."  
"I can't," he said. "I can't leave her like this." He looked beyond the healer at Ealasaid. Her strong athletic body looked so weak. Her face was flushed with sickness.   
"My King, please. You must rest. We will get you should her status change." Her kind hand lead him out, gently. He took one look back at his love and prayed to the Maker that this would not be the last time he saw her alive.

Two weeks passed and Ealasaid remained unconscious. Alistair feared the worse. He had barely slept since the day of her accident and rarely left her side. The healer tried to force him out, but after awhile the pain on his face softened her and she agreed to allow him to stay with her. Only the most urgent of business stole him away. Everything else was once again in the hands of his uncle Eamon.  
He was asleep slumped over the bed his hand holding hers, when she awoke. Her vision was blurry from lack of use. She could feel the weight of his body against the bed to her side.   
"Alistair?" she asked, her voice dry and cracking. He didn't move. She tried lifting herself up but gave up when everything ached. She sighed, blinking her eyes. A servant walked in and gave a small squeak when she saw Ealasaid starring back at her.  
"My Lady! You're awake!" She quickly walked over and touched her head feeling her temperature. Her hand lowered to her neck and took her pulse.  
"Are you thirsty, my Lady?" Ealasaid nodded. "Would you like something to eat?" Ealasaid nodded again. Another woman with bright red hair who she didn't recognize walked in. Her robes suggested that she was a healer. The servant stopped by her and whispered. The healer smiled.  
"It is good to see you awake, my Lady." The healer walked over to her and sat on the bed opposite Alistair. "Poor dear," she said looking at him. "He has rarely left your side or slept. I fear exhaustion has finally taken him." She patted Ealasaid on the shoulder.  
"Now, tell me how you are feeling." Ealasaid slowly inhaled.  
"My body aches, everywhere." The healer nodded taking in the information.  
"You have been asleep for two weeks, my Lady, I would expect that your muscles strain from the lack of movement and proper nourishment. Ah..." she said as the servant returned with a fresh broth and cool water. "This will at least help with the latter." She helped Ealasaid with the broth, lifting the spoon to her mouth and tilting it letting the warm liquid pour down her eager throat.   
"You gave us quite the scare." The healer smiled at her. "I have some more news if you think you are up to hearing it." Ealasaid was silent a moment, worried at what else the healer might have to say. She eventually nodded her head.  
"I didn't want to say anything until we were sure you would make it, until you were awake. My Lady..." she paused putting the broth down on the other nightstand. "You are with child."

Alistair awoke with Ealasaid starring over him. A large smile crossed her face when she saw the brightness of his eyes. He rubbed his face uncertain if he was still dreaming.  
"You're awake!" He climbed more on to the bed and engulfed Ealasaid in a hug. She felt tears drop onto her shoulders and her face. "I thought I had lost you," he said, his embrace tightening.  
"Alistair, my love," she said struggling to breath. "You are breaking me." He released her immediately. He sat back on his leg, his eyes gazing into hers.  
"The healer had some interesting news for me when I awoke." Alistair looked at her puzzled his hand once again reaching towards an eye to wipe the sleep away.  
"Is everything alright? he asked.  
"Alistair, she said I am with child." Alistair dropped his hand. The quizzical expression on his face deepened. He opened his mouth to speak, not finding words he closed it again. His eyes dropped to the bed sheet aimlessly. His eyes darted back and forth, his mind trying to understand what he had just been told.  
"Are you sure?" he asked. Ealasaid nodded. "But, the blood, our blood...How?"  
"The healer suspects the poison. If fought off the effects of the darkspawn blood long enough for the baby to implant and start to grow." Alistair stood up and paced the room.   
"Is that possible?" Ealasaid shrugged.  
"It was the only thing that she could think of. I suppose we will never really know for sure."  
"Will it have the Blight, too?" he asked worryingly. "Will it even live?" Ealasaid shrugged again.  
"I don't have any of those answers, Alistair. We will just have to wait and see."


	6. Epilogue

Epilogue

Months passed and Ealasaid's belly swelled large with life. Strangely, she felt better than she had in recent years. As though a burden she had been carrying was suddenly lifted off of her tired shoulders. Though she did have some of the negative symptoms of a typical pregnancy, the side effects of the taint were greatly diminished. The nightmares had all but disappeared and the soft song that always sung in the back of her mind was completely silenced.   
The queen was particularly hateful towards her as was to be expected. She would never say anything out right, fearing the wrath of her husband, but she never warmed to Ealasaid. She would generally ignore the elf, other times when she was overcome with jealously, especially seeing Ealasaid grow, she would speak some kind of racist filth at her and her unborn child. It was quiet, under her breath as usual, but Ealasaid always heard.   
Ealasaid took it in stride. While she did get angry at some of the crueler things the queen would say, she understood that it came from jealously and despair. Ealasaid had stolen her husband, she had stolen her duty. She was hardly the first mistress to ever exist. Most nobles had them. Many nobles had children with them. Alistair himself was the result of such an event. The thought didn't make Ealasaid feel that much better.  
As much as she wanted to hate the queen, hit her face, break her arm, Ealasaid couldn't blame her. Ealasaid was the one with child and with the king refusing to bed her, the queen never would be. The queen was only an ornament, something to show off at court to prove that Alistair had kept his duty to his country and married a noble woman. The queen's pain was something Ealasaid would never truly understand.  
Isabella had been primed from birth to be the wife of a noble. Taught only the things that would make her a good match and chastised whenever she showed interest beyond that. Although pampered, it wasn't an easy life. Isabella was never allowed to be herself, only a doll to be used at some man's whim. She had been so molded by her culture and her status that there was little chance she would ever be more.  
The thought made Ealasaid sad. All the pain she had been through, all the fighting, the bigotry, seemed easier to face than a lifetime of never knowing who you really were. At least Ealasaid could live her life as she wanted. If she died in battle it was something she chose to do and it would save the lives of countless people. Isabella would never know that kind of fulfillment.

Finally, the day came and Ealasaid gave birth to a healthy, Blight free, baby girl they named Shaelanna. She had a few wisps of strawberry blonde hair, almond shaped eyes and was smaller than most humans babies, most likely as a part of her elven blood. Beyond that it would be impossible to tell that she had an elven mother. Both Ealasaid and Alistair fell in love with the little creature immediately. Even the queen couldn't hate the child despite its parentage. Though she did her best to try.  
With the child's birth, Ealasaid's own taint returned. She wasn't sure why it came back, or really even why it had left in the first place, but it's return was wholeheartedly unwelcome. It seemed stronger than before. The song that was always in the back most part of her mind was a little louder. The nightmares that she had had came back in full force. It felt like there were darkspawn everywhere. Something strange was happening in their world, and she feared what that meant.

From there, time passed quickly. Months became years, and little Shaelanna grew to be a very talented little girl. She was the envy of many girls in the court. One of the most beautiful girls that many had ever seen, or at least so they said.   
Alistair taught her all the things he had planned on teaching a young son. Some of the nobles scoffed at the idea of a young lady learning blades, but they were largely ignored. Eamon attempted to correct Alistair several times, telling him that the girl should spend her time in study learning politics and house names, and the chantry learning the ways of the Maker. Alistair stood against him in this. His distaste for the chantry held him fast against the idea.  
Ealasaid taught her daughter everything that she had learned from her own mother when she was child. She showed her how to pass through a room unseen, and how to gather information only spoken in whispers in the corners of society. Between the two of them, the girl soon became not only a sword master, but an excellent rogue.   
Shaelanna showed promise is many of the arts as well. She had the voice of a songbird, and hands well adapted for writing, piano, and painting. There seemed to be little that the girl couldn't exceed in. If it weren't for fear, Ealasaid would have the girl eventually learn to become a bard. She would be the best in Thedas, even better than her friend Leliana. As a noble it was very likely fate would bring her along that path anyway.  
A small concern of Ealasaid's was the return of Morrigan and her child. Though she had befriended the Witch of the Wilds she wasn't sure how time or motherhood could have changed her. Between Ealasaid and Morrigan, Morrigan's child would be the first for the throne assuming the queen never had a child of her own. Ealasaid didn't necessarily want her daughter as the heir of Fereldan, she saw what the life of a bastard had done to Alistair and she didn't want that life for her daughter.   
Still, if Morrigan had fallen into a dark place, if she had gone the way of her mother, her child would be a dark leader. One with the soul of an old god. Ealasaid wasn't sure what that would mean for Thedas. She had agreed to its creation quickly enough in the desperate time before her fight with the Archdemon. She could only hope that that decision wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass.

Several years later, when Shaelanna was six, Alistair received some interesting news from a hooded carrier. He didn't go into detail, he feared a trap and didn't want to get his hopes up. Whatever it was Ealasaid knew it was something that he would have to do. She had never seen such determination in him save perhaps when they fought the Archdemon many years prior.   
He left the kingdom under Eamon's capable command, something the former Arl had gotten very used to, and fled. Accompanying him was the Rivaini captain they had once met at the Pearl and a dwarf she didn't know but who was supposedly good friends of the lady captain. She later heard that both were friends of the Champion of Kirkwall, a woman who she didn't know but had great respect for. She almost wished she could remember Lothering better in case she had actually met her but had forgotten.  
Despite his able party, Ealasaid still worried for him. He had been sparring again since her incident with the spiders, and he was in better shape than she had seen him in many years, perhaps better than he ever had been. Still, she feared that he would need her help. One missed step and he would be sliced through and taken down. He turned her down, however, when she offered to go with him. Their child would need at least one parent behind to look after her.   
With the king gone there wasn't anyone powerful enough, or rather anyone with enough noble influence, left to protect them. Eamon, who tolerated their presence, would very likely succumb to pressure from outside sources just as he had once done with Alistair at the behest of his wife, Isolde. Though tensions had eased somewhat, the queen still held animosity to Ealasaid and would have done everything she could to find a reason to get her expelled.   
Ealasaid fully believed that if she could, the queen would take Shaelanna and claim her as her own. Without any noticeable elven features, the queen could say that she had given birth to her in secret. That the babe had been sickly or some such nonsense and had only recently recovered enough to meet company. There would be defectors, those who had seen the child before and knew better, but many would choose to believe it for one reason or another. One such being that such information would be considered valuable knowledge that could be used to enhance their placement through the Game.   
Another concern, without the protection of the king, many nobles would likely choose his absence as a time to assassinate them. It was unlikely that any would have gotten past Ealasaid who kept up her training throughout the years. They would be dead before ever pulling out a blade. Still, the idea that they could potentially find their way to her daughter made her much more cautious. So she took the safer route and stayed with Cyrion, her father in the Denerim Alienage. It was still close the palace but she took a small group of trusted guards with her for protection. Being away from the castle alone made her feeler safer.   
Cyrion took every opportunity to tell the little girl of the Dalish elves and her own personal ancestry. Ealasaid would interject at certain points and laugh remembering her father telling her the same stories when she was young. Though she missed Alistair deeply, she was able to find joy in the time she shared with her father.  
Shianni came to visit several times. She was busy as hahren and found little time between, but she made the most of it. She told Shaelanna stories of her mother, to which Ealasaid objected, but Shianni did it anyway. The little girl gobbled up every word and Ealasaid caught her playing as the great Grey Warden slaying the Archdemon with a group of elf children. She relented to the admiration.  
When Alistair returned several months later, he seemed more focused on his duties than ever before. When Ealasaid asked him what happened he would say that he found nothing only the realization that he had already found his purpose with her and their child as the king of Fereldan. It was an unsatisfying answer, but something in his eyes told her that it would be the only answer he would give.   
He didn't turn Ealasaid away like he had before when he chose duty over love. He did, however, make more of an effort to pay attention to his queen, Isabella. He would spend time with her in the library and the garden. He would have her read to him some of the canticles that she loved. He started to bed her again, he felt it his duty to at least try and have a child with her, though they never did. He hoped it would also quell some of the animosity she held towards Ealasaid and himself if he paid more attention to her.   
It worked as well as it could. She would never be a part of their family, although they did make attempts to include her, but she seemed less angry. In a passing conversation she told Ealasaid that she at least felt like she had held up her duty by being faithful to the king even if he did not. In the end, she said dryly, I will be by the Maker's side as one of his brides. Ealasaid had the feeling that the queen wanted to say something about her being a dirty, deceitful savage who would rot in the void. She didn't speak it however, instead she took her hand and patted it softly, pitying.   
Another difference in Alistair was that he seemed to have a deeper respect for Eamon, a deeper connection. Eamon was given more free time and he no longer needed to take over many of the responsibilities that were meant for the king that Alistair had had him doing since his ascension to the throne. Alistair definitely seemed more resigned to his position then he ever had before.

Several years later, when Shaelanna was nine, Ealasaid found herself starting out on her own mission which would take her away from Fereldan, the palace and her daughter. She had read every book she could find that spoke of the Blight and Grey Wardens. She even had books brought to her from other libraries in the country that she would pour over for hours. After all that research she never found what she looked for. A way to get rid of the Blight. With a child her vigor to find a way to overcome the Calling became even stronger.  
She began venturing out to places she knew that might hold secrets. Travel was difficult. In the last few years, the mages had rebelled against the circles and war had broken out. Fortunately, she knew secret roads and passages that would allow her to pass around them without having to get caught in their ongoing battle.  
On her search she found ancient ruins that held secrets people were too busy to look for, only they weren't the secrets she needed. She looked through other libraries in some of the other kingdoms, just in case they had missed something when she asked them to send material. All she found were scraps. Random ideas and events that didn't seem linked together.   
Some were in other languages. Ancient elven, of which she knew very little, even less growing up as a city elf. Ancient dwarven, and ancient human languages were scattered in some texts and naturally very few people were around who could help her translate. With the world in disrepair once again, it would be even harder to find anyone of use. Scholars and anyone else not ready for combat would go underground as best they could to stay out of harm's way.  
It was because of this that she came to the conclusion that she was going to have to delve even deeper into the Grey Wardens' history than anyone had before. Anyone that she knew at least. She would likely need to go to Weisshaupt, to the Grey Warden fortress. There might be more information there. The Anderfels was also a good bet as it was the first place to encounter the Blight and had been the hardest hit by it over the centuries. She would then have to search places that no one had ever ventured to. The jungles of the Donarks and maybe even the mountains to the west, the Hunterhorn Mountains. She had to do all of this to keep her family.  
So she left Alistair and Shaelanna for the north in hopes that she would find a better future for herself, her family, and for Grey Wardens everywhere.


End file.
